


Come Forth My Hand To Claim

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Series: The Prince and His Knight [4]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curtain rises on the <i>American Idol</i> stage... and the curtain falls from the Prince's eyes.</p><p>He will never be blind again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Forth My Hand To Claim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merelywren (mrflannery)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrflannery/gifts).
  * Inspired by [still the same](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888401) by [merelywren (mrflannery)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrflannery/pseuds/merelywren). 



> Part 2 of my collaboration with [merelywren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrflannery/pseuds/merelywren). Title and lyrics taken from "[Marble Halls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJSprXxBoyo)" by Enya.

_**And I dreamt that one of that noble host** _  
_**Came forth my hand to claim** _  
_**But I also dreamt that which charmed me most** _  
_**That you loved me still the same** _

* * *

 

 

“Don’t cry,” he says softly.

The Prince swallows back the screams of agony every movement is threatening to rip out of his throat.  He pushes past the blinding pain and reaches out to cup that beloved face for the first time.  

How cruel the fates have been that it is now also the last time.

“Please, my love…” he whispers, and he sees his Knight’s eyes widen as he finally speaks the truth of his heart.  He shakily wipes at the tears that are flowing freely down that handsome face, and the Prince curses himself, not for the first time, for how cowardly he has been for keeping this truth from him… until it is now too late.

“… Don’t cry,” he begs again, because it is breaking his heart that his last living vision is this shattering image of how much pain he has caused his Knight, for it only serves to remind him, all over again, how undeserving he is of his Knight’s devotion.

He sees something in those eyes flare determinedly, and he smiles at the familiar fire that’s blazing in that hazel-blue gaze, even now.  “Stay with me,” his Knight whispers fiercely, and the Prince can feel the Knight’s arms tightening around him, as if he can preserve the life that’s fading out of the Prince’s body simply by holding on.  “I cannot win this without you.”

He’s beginning to feel his heartbeat slowing beneath his ribs, and he fights desperately to keep his eyes open.  

Perhaps in a strange way, this is the fates’ parting gift to him — beautiful in its bittersweetness, as he is somehow granted his heart’s desire.

He reaches down and clasps his Knight’s hand.

“Remember what I taught you.”

At least in this way… he has truly spent the rest of his life in the arms of the one he loves most.

“Hold on tight.” 

There is something he has always wanted to do—something he has always forbidden himself from succumbing to—and yet… he doesn’t want to leave this world without knowing what it’s like.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the putrid air of the carnage around them filling the hole in his lungs with blood, where the Enemy’s sword had pierced through. 

And with the last of his strength, the Prince allows himself one last selfish act.

He finally kisses his Knight.

“… And don’t let go.”

He feels the blood gurgling up from his lungs to spill over his throat, filling his mouth as he exhales.  He lies back and takes one final look at the man he loves more than his life — enough to give it up, for him.

… And that is when he sees something akin to betrayal flash in those hazel-blue eyes.

The Prince gasps out his last breath — and with it, his realisation of his fatal mistake.

 _I will find you_ , he vows in his mind as his vision begins to fade, praying that whoever gods are out there are listening to the covenant of his heart.

He doesn’t want his last deed in this world to be that of abandonment, just when his Knight needs him the most.

_Until then…_

His eyes flutter close.

_Until then… wait for me._

_… I am coming back for you._

His sword clatters from his lifeless hand.

* * *

 

He is named David James Archuleta, in this life.

It’s the name he is now called by—and he’s grateful for it, for he’s getting a little tired of being called “11394”—as he is summoned to the Hollywood stage one final time.

Several hours earlier, he had already filmed a segment that will serve as an intro to this most crucial audition for the judges.  He had said to the camera with a bright smile:  “Today, I’m just gonna get into that song.  I’m gonna tell it to the judges, and I’m gonna make sure they understand it.”

It’s a half-truth, for he truly intends to impress the panel—especially because the Queen is there—but he now also has a whole new reason for wanting to make it through.

He doesn’t want to leave.  He _can’t._ Not now, when he has finally found his reason for living.

His reason for coming back.

He hears the first notes of the keyboard begin to play.  He closes his eyes as he holds on to the sound, drawing his strength from it.  Inside him, the magic flows to fill his voice… and his heart.

He smiles, raises his mic, and begins to sing.

“Oh, thinking about our younger years.”

He opens his eyes.  There, sitting in the front row of the auditorium, is the man he truly wants to sing this song to — the man he truly hopes will understand what he is singing about, and why.

“There was only you and me.”

In this era, people who marry often share the same last name when they finally decide to bind themselves to each other.  He wonders what it means now that they both share the same _first_ name — and the same forgotten power in music.

He wonders what it means now that they are inextricably bound to each other from the moment they have both been reborn.

“We were young and wild and free.”

David shivers as he feels a familiar, parallel spell responding to the enchantment of his song, sinking past his skin and heating him from the inside out.  Like a lover’s seeking touch, he feels it stroking around his legs, nuzzling up his torso and his arms, lingering on his neck and finally, inexplicably, caressing his lips as it slides sensuously against the notes pouring out of his mouth.  

Hazel-blue eyes gleam in answer to the magic of his song as David Cook watches him.

… Just as he always had.

* * *

 

It is on the seventy-eighth lunar cycle of his life that he meets the Knight for the first time.

The little Prince hides behind his Nursemaid’s legs, tiny hands clutching her long skirt as he looks up at the older boy—half with awe, half with trepidation.  

She chuckles.  “You seem to be frightening him,” she says to the Knight, her blue eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth.

The little Prince tries not to gape as the other boy looks down at him in amusement.  The Knight had been born one hundred and four lunar cycles ahead of him, and to the Prince’s mind, he already seems so _old_.  The fact that the other boy is wearing chainmail, as he’s already being fitted for his first suit of armour, makes him all the more intimidating.

The young Knight kneels before him and places his hand over his heart as he lowers his head in a bow.  “Hello there, Your Highness,” the young Knight greets him.  “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

The little Prince furrows his brows.  The words of the young Knight are equally formal and friendly, and the Prince’s tight hold on his Nursemaid’s skirt loosens at the other boy’s warm smile.

She feels the minute shift in movement, and she gently extricates herself from the little Prince’s grip.  “I know you’ve been feeling restless today, dear one, being cooped up in here for so long.” She ruffles his hair affectionately.  “Would you like to take a walk around the garden?”

The little Prince immediately brightens as he nods enthusiastically.

“Excellent!” she exclaims as she claps her hands.  “Our young Knight here will accompany you.”

The little Prince instantly pouts.

His Nursemaid laughs.  “Oh don’t give me that.  I have other duties to attend to in the castle, so I can’t come with you.”  She strokes his cheek reassuringly.  “He is one of the Queen’s most skilled, and most trusted.  Do not fret, little one.”

The little Prince opens his mouth, a protesting whine bubbling up his throat, and gives out a startled squeak when the young Knight offers his hand, palm facing upward in an amicable gesture.

“It seems I have to prove my worth to you as well, Your Highness.” 

The little Prince stares into that hazel-blue gaze in wonder.  It is the first time anyone has ever dared to look straight into his eyes.

And yet…

“I will keep you safe,” says the young Knight softly.  “I promise.”

And yet… he isn’t afraid.

He reaches out and takes his Knight’s hand.

* * *

 

The little Prince takes a liking to him immediately.

It’s not that he likes the young Knight better than his Nursemaid, the little Prince thinks a little guiltily.  She looks on fondly—and a little wistfully—when he rushes to the Knight’s side for their now routine afternoon stroll.  

At least, it’s what they tell her anyway, and he giggles when the young Knight gives him a conspiratorial wink.  He slips his hand comfortably through the older boy’s, not noticing the pleased start of surprise on the young Knight’s face as he curls his bruised and chafed fingers over the Prince’s small, unblemished hand.

The little Prince beams at him, and something in the young Knight’s gaze softens.

They walk comfortably hand-in-hand through the hallways and past the courtyard, with the little Prince happily skipping every other step. As soon as they reach the castle’s spacious garden, the little Prince tugs his hand away — and the young Knight lets him.

 _This_ is what the little Prince likes about the young Knight.  He lets him be _free_.

Unlike his Nursemaid who always hovers and coddles him, the young Knight merely hangs back, leaning against a pillar as he keeps a watchful eye over his charge from a distance.  It’s a welcome change from the well-meaning but often suffocating overprotectiveness of his Nursemaid. With the young Knight, the little Prince is free to roam around as much he likes, sometimes examining the castle’s flora and fauna up close, sometimes chasing the colourful birds and butterflies that frequent the majestic garden.

Once, on a particularly hot and humid afternoon, the little Prince had the brilliant idea to chase a leaping frog into the pond.  The waters were shallow, so there had been nothing to fear, and he had emerged completely soaked from the top of his brunette hair to the tips of his tiny toes, proudly holding the slippery frog in both hands… and dripping mud all over the place.

The young Knight could not stop laughing.

“Let’s clean you up, your Highness,” the young Knight had managed to say in between his guffaws.  “If I take you back the way you are now, she’ll have my head.”

The little Prince had frowned, for he knew that his mother was a kind woman.  “The Queen?” he dubiously asked.

“No,” the young Knight had wryly said, “your Nursemaid.”

“Oh,” said the little Prince as he quailed a little.  “She’s very scary indeed.”

The young Knight burst out laughing again, and the little Prince had stared in wonder as something bright and warm unfurled beneath his ribs at the sound.  He liked that laugh very much, and he vowed right then and there to produce that sound as often as he could.

“And for the love of heaven, your Majesty,” the young Knight added bemusedly, “let go of the damn frog.”

(The little Prince didn’t know it then, but in the next one hundred and thirty lunar cycles that he will be spending with his Knight in this life, that memorable afternoon will still remain as one of his most vividly happy memories.)

Now, however, the thought of chasing animals around the soft, warm grass is far from the little Prince’s mind as he stares longingly at the castle gates.  He must have been standing there for quite a while because the young Knight finally pushes himself away from his post and walks over to where the little Prince is.

“Why the troubled face, your Highness?” the young Knight asks, half-concerned, half-curious.

He reaches out and gently strokes the little Prince’s hair in a gesture reminiscent of his Nursemaid’s, and the little Prince lets out a shaky sigh.

“I want…” he bites his lip and looks up at the young Knight with doleful eyes.  “I want to go.”

The young Knight blinks as the little Prince points determinedly at the iron railings.  “Outside the castle?”

The little Prince nods vigorously.

“Your Highness,” the young Knight says gently, “you know you are not allowed.”

The little Prince’s lower lip is trembling.  “How come?”

The young Knight hesitates.  “It is… not safe.”

The little Prince tilts his head at the young Knight as he processes this information.  Then, nodding once to himself determinedly, the little Prince steps closer and slips his hand through the young Knight’s and threads their fingers together.

“Then you’ll keep me safe, won’t you?”

A startled look flashes across the young Knights face, almost as if he has been hit, and the little Prince frowns worriedly, suddenly afraid that he has somehow offended his friend.

Slowly, the young Knight kneels before the little Prince.  “Why are you so certain that I will?”

The little Prince stares at him, aghast, because the answer should be obvious.

“Because you promised.”

The young Knight’s eyes widen, before his face softens into the most tender expression the little Prince has ever seen.

“That I did, dear one.  That I did,” the young Knight murmurs as he tightens his hold on his charge.  “I will keep you safe.”

The older boy takes a deep breath and follows the little Prince’s longing gaze.  “Why do you want to go outside, your Majesty?” he asks, intrigued despite himself.

The little Prince looks at the barrier separating them from the world outside.  “Don’t you hear it?” he murmurs.

Furrowing his brows and pursing his lips, the young Knight falls silent and listens.

Peals of laughter echo from beyond the walls — young, wild, and free.

“The children?” the Knight asks in surprise when he finally realises that what they’re hearing are the youngsters of the village playing right outside the castle gates.

The little Prince breaks into a wide smile.  “Yes!”  He looks up at the young Knight with an earnest, pleading expression.  “I want to play with them.”

The older boy’s features are a curious mix of disbelief and wonder as he looks down at the little Prince.  “Why?”

(He didn’t know it then, but the simplicity and honesty of the answer he gave at that question, even at such a tender age, is the one that solidified the devotion and deepened the affection of the young Knight to the Crown Prince.)

“Because they’re my people,” says the little Prince softly, “and I want to understand their happiness, so I can protect it.”

* * *

 

David is eleven years old when the curtain falls from his eyes.

It happens when Amber is three years old, and she lets out a peal of laughter at little Jazzy’s antics, who is making funny faces at her younger sister.

David freezes as his mind suddenly flashes with vivid scenes of what he previously thought were just recurring dreams.  He now knows for certain that they aren’t — not with how achingly, sharply familiar Amber’s laughter is.

David can never forget the joy of that sound, nor the happiness it had once brought him.  

A fierce protectiveness blooms in his chest, and he looks at his siblings with newfound awe at the realisation that the bosom friends he had once fought for are now reborn into this life as his _family._

He rushes to Claudia, who is setting the dining table, and startles her by suddenly embracing her from behind.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers.

Claudia twists away from his grip and looks at him strangely as Daniel rolls his eyes at them.

“Don’t mind him, Dee,” says Daniel dryly.  “Davey’s just hungry.  Is dinner ready yet?”

Later that night, David slips quietly out of the bunk bed he shares with Daniel and goes to their bedroom window.  He pulls back the curtains and looks up at the glimmering heavens.  

One constellation stands out to him.

He stares at the line of three bright stars that makes up Orion’s Belt, and traces with his gaze the fainter line of stars extending southward and forming Orion’s Sword.

He looks up at that warrior of the universe—his Watchman in the night sky—and remembers the most vivid image of his dreams: a warrior from another life.

He remembers sunny afternoons playing with the villagers’ children under the watchful eye of his young, devoted guardian.  He remembers quiet evenings sharing his concerns for the people of his Kingdom with his most trusted friend and confidante.  And he remembers battlefields fighting side by side with the one kindred soul he couldn’t live without.

He remembers a last vow, and the last, fading image of tormented hazel-blue eyes as his Knight held him close.

“Wait for me,” David whispers under his breath as he swears it all over again. “And I’ll find you.”

* * *

 

Paula Abdul is announced to be one of the judges for this new, pioneering reality show and talent search called _American Idol_ , and David stares at the promos being flashed on their family television, feeling like his heart wants to jump out of his chest and through the screen.

Of course the Queen is seated in the middle of the panel, David thinks dazedly, just like how the once well-loved monarch had sat in her throne. 

He wants to press his hands against the TV, the way little Amber is doing right now, wide-eyed and awestruck. David dearly loves his Mom and Dad in this life, but he suddenly feels the deep-seated ache of missing the first mother he has ever known and loved so intensely, and he wishes, more than anything, to look at his former sovereign in the eye and finally see the recognition he so badly craves.

David swallows as his heart thuds loudly against his chest at the _other_ reason why recognising the former Queen has sent him reeling.  Because after the King died defending the land, there was only one other man the Queen trusted entirely—enough to entrust the care and guidance of her only son.

If the Queen is reborn in this life… then so must be her Champion.

It’s after that staggering epiphany that David starts singing in earnest.  His heart is filled with renewed hope now that he knows for certain that this isn’t just raw talent that he’s born with. 

It is raw _power._  

He thinks of the Wizard—the Queen’s most sought after adviser and the Knight’s most stalwart ally—and he marvels at how incredibly fortunate they were that the most powerful Being of that land had been on their side.  

He wonders what happened to the Wizard if his powers have somehow been transformed into this unifying enchantment of music.  David wonders why in this life, he is now one of those who happens to have harnessed its strongest spell.

And he wonders, most deeply, why this magic feels like only the half of a powerful duet.

(In his heart, David is fiercely hoping that he isn’t wrong in believing who possesses the other half.)

He’s still too young to try out for _American Idol,_ however.  So the following year when the opportunity surprisingly arrives, he immediately joins the next best thing that’s fit for his age: _Star Search_.

( _How fitting,_ David thinks wistfully.)

He throws himself into the competition, singing his heart out week after week and passionately channeling the incredible power flowing inside him, hoping that somewhere out there, his other half will hear his voice and finally come forth to sing with him.

Yet in pushing himself to the limit, blindingly and single-mindedly determined to fulfil his vow… one of his vocal chords becomes paralysed.

He sits there in the hospital as the doctor gently mandates him to take better care of himself, or else he may never sing again.  Numbly, David lets himself be wrapped in his Mom’s comforting warmth, and desperately hopes that in this life, he isn’t fated to make the same mistake.

* * *

 

The entire table rattles as a fist slams forcefully onto the wooden surface.

From his position behind the desk, the Prince looks up serenely at his incensed Knight.  “Control your temper, Captain.”

He only receives a seething glare in return.  “How can you be so calm about this, my Lord?”

The Prince sighs at the outright impertinence.  Then again, he supposes he should be used to it by now, as his Knight is the only one who gets away with it each time — probably, the Prince thinks ruefully, because he always _lets_ him.

“I do not see the value of wasting time and energy on what’s already beyond our control,” the Prince points out.  “What’s done is done, and we must carefully proceed with reason, rather than let our emotions have free reign.”

“You are now completely incapacitated!”

His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as the Prince pushes it back and rises swiftly from his seat.  “Do not dare mock my capability,” he says icily.  “As long as I am still able to wield my sword, I am _not_ an invalid!”

 _I will not be a burden to you,_ is the Prince’s silent, vehement vow.

“And how do you intend to hold on to it, my Lord,” the Knight counters scathingly, “when your sword arm is now effectively paralysed?”

“As you can see before you, Captain, I still happen to possess another perfectly functional arm.” Angry tears are starting to blur the Prince’s vision, and he blinks them furiously back.  “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The Knight is startled into taking an unwitting step backward, looking as though the Prince has just stabbed him.

“My Lord,” says the Knight shakily, “it is you who thinks so little of the depth of my regard for you.”

Both of them fall silent, breathing heavily as they stare at one another, locked in this emotionally charged stalemate.

Finally, it is the Prince who relents as his shoulders slump in defeat.  “You may doubt me in many things, Captain,” he murmurs, “but never doubt my knowledge of how much you care for me.  All this time, I have never, _ever_ doubted that.”

Something painfully vulnerable flashes in the Knight’s eyes.

“Then if you truly know how much you mean to me, my Lord,” he whispers, “do not go into battle tomorrow.  Stay here.  _Please._ ”

It is the first time the Knight has ever pleaded with him, and the Prince feels his chest constrict, finally understanding where the Knight’s anger is coming from.

“You know I cannot do that, Captain,” he says softly.

“Why ever not?”

“Because that is exactly what the Enemy wants me to do.”

The Prince steps out to his chamber’s balcony, feeling the Knight’s gaze follow him.  He looks down below at where some of the soldiers are ushering all the villagers inside the safety of the castle walls, some are fortifying their barricades, and others still are meticulously checking their weapons and gearing up their steed.

They are all preparing for war.

“You see,” says the Prince as he eyes his people, “the Enemy did not just intend to paralyse my arm.  The Enemy intended to incapacitate this Kingdom.”

He turns around to find the Knight watching him intently.  “The Crown is a heavy duty to carry,” the Prince says softly, “because it is the symbol of this Kingdom’s power and might.”

He smiles sadly at his Knight.  “How do you think the people of this Kingdom will feel if their Crown Prince cannot even fight for them?  How much will their spirit be weakened when the very person who should be protecting them chooses to hide and protect himself instead?”

The Knight’s hands tighten into fists.  “You do not need to prove anything to anyone, my Lord,” he fiercely declares.  “Your people know who you are.  We will not risk losing our Prince.”

The candlelight casts flickering shadows upon the young Knight’s features as he steps closer.  “I am begging you, my Lord, just this once… please think of yourself first.”

The Prince swallows at the raw emotion glimmering in the Knight’s eyes.  He looks away.  “Alas, Captain… that is not what I was born to do.”

He moves closer to the balcony, his right hand clutching the railing as his now paralysed left arm hangs uselessly at his side.  He raises his gaze to the heavens and lets his troubled heart be comforted by the sight of the King — his Watchman in the night sky.

“I was born to protect this Kingdom,” the Prince says softly, “and that is what I intend to do.”

And he wishes, more than anything, to know whether or not his father is proud of him.

The familiar touch of a swordsman’s hand closes over the one holding on to the railing, and the Prince looks beside him in surprise.

Gently, his Knight slides his palm beneath the Prince’s and unwraps his fingers from their grip on the metal bar.  Carefully, his Knight turns his hand over and spreads his fingers — and slowly, intimately slides his own in the spaces in between.

“And I,” the Knight murmurs, “was born to protect _you._ ”  

The Prince feels like all the air has rushed out of his lungs as he finds himself trapped beneath the intensity of that hazel-blue gaze.

“That is what I intend to do.”

His Knight holds on tight.

“… I will keep you safe.”

* * *

 

The floor manager gives the signal: the lights brighten, the camera dollies in, and the audience seated around the set applauds right on cue.

“Welcome back to _American Idol_!” Ryan announces brightly as they go back on air.  

From his position on the balcony with the rest of the Top 8 guys, David drums his fingers restlessly against the metal bar, feeling something more than jittery nervousness taking over his limbs.  Ryan begins encouraging the viewers at home to download the live performances on iTunes, but it’s all background noise to David; his entire attention is captivated by the singer standing next to Ryan and waiting for his moment to perform in a manner that is almost _too_ calm.

“What you didn’t see during the break,” Ryan is now saying in amusement as he gestures around him, “is massive _panic_ on stage to hook all of these up.”

David narrows his eyes as Cook chuckles.  He stares at the way the man is gripping the neck of his instrument firmly, much in the same way that he had once confidently held the hilt of his blade. 

The electric guitar is the manifestation of the sword Cook had once wielded, and David’s heart rate begins to accelerate at the intimate knowledge of just how powerful Cook can be with a weapon of his choice.  

“Does it work, David?” Ryan asks.

With his pick, Cook strums his guitar once.

David’s vision suddenly warps and wavers.

“Yes!” Ryan exclaims as he holds up his fists in excitement.

“Hey,” Michael’s worried tone dimly registers in David’s clouded mind as he struggles to refocus, and the older man readily catches him when he sways dizzily backward.  “You alright, mate?  Do you need to sit down?”

David quickly shakes his head both to answer negatively and to clear his suddenly blurry eyesight.  “I’m… I’m okay,” he manages to say.  He looks up at Michael and flashes his brightest smile.  “Thank you.”

Michael frowns, clearly unconvinced by David’s brave front.  He shifts closer to David in a subtly protective gesture even as he turns his attention back to the stage, and David’s smile turns genuine and fond at the familiar, instinctive reaction — one that was possibly ingrained in the former Lieutenant by his former Captain.

David takes a deep, shaky breath as he watches Cook set the mic stand in front of him, barely listening to the man’s pre-recorded interview playing on the screen behind him.  The distortion effect Cook has chosen to set up on the pedal board of his electric guitar distorted not only the instrument’s sound, but remarkably—and a little frighteningly—David’s _thoughts_ as well _._

It isn’t the first time Cook is making use of his guitar in a performance, but never before has David felt the magic emanating so _keenly_ from it.  He isn’t sure if Cook is doing it deliberately, or if he’s even aware that it’s happening, but if Cook uses his guitar to channel the ancient magic simmering within him, his power is going to be _all-consuming_ _._

 _..._  Just like he had once been with his sword.

In the hushed intake of breath right before the song starts, Cook steals one final glance up at the balcony — and looks straight at _him._

And David gasps as he realises:  _he_ is the target.

Cook strums, and David’s vision instantly spins into a nauseating prism of colours.  There is a painful tug in his gut and a disorienting sensation of being swept off his feet as Cook begins to sing—

 _And_ _David is suddenly transported right inside Cook’s thoughts._

“ _I’ve been alone with you inside my mind.”_

The thoughts are innocent and tender even as they are sensuously intimate.

Images of the Knight dressing the Prince in his sleeping robes mingle with images of Cook embracing David from behind as he plays on the piano; Cook mouths along David's neck just as the Knight kisses the sliver of skin revealed by the Prince’s robes.

And then… the fantasies turn into something more.

_“And in my dreams I’ve kissed your lips a thousand times.”_

Images of the Prince spread out underneath the Knight on his bed with his legs firmly wrapped around the Knight’s bare hips mingle with images of Cook pushing David against the wall as he scrabbles for purchase and clings to Cook’s naked back.

_“I sometimes see you pass outside my door.”_

Images of the Knight discreetly gazing at the Prince as they pass each other on the castle halls and head to each of their respective duties mingle with images of Cook staring longingly at David as they pass each other on the hotel lobby and head to each of their respective rooms to practice.  

_“Hello?  Is it me you’re looking for?”_

Images of the Knight desperately keeping the Prince in his peripheral vision as he furiously fights to keep the enemy soldiers at bay mingle with images of Cook fervently singing with his band in different bars and desperately searching for a familiar face in the crowd.

_“I can see it in your eyes.  I can see it in your smile.”_

Images of the little Prince giggling at his Nursemaid as she exasperatedly attempts to clean him up mingle with images of David laughing softly at Brooke as they share a meal after their rehearsal.

_“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and my arms are open wide.”_

Images of the Knight heatedly watching the muscles bunch on the Prince’s arms as he practices his swordsmanship mingle with images of Cook hungrily feasting on the way David’s throat bobs as he sings on stage.

_“‘Cause you know just what to say, and you know just what to do.”_

Images of the Knight bowing in reverence at the conclusion of the Prince’s moving declaration to his people mingle with images of Cook staring in awestruck wonder at David’s impassioned speech about making the world a better place with his music.

 _“And I wanna tell you so much…_ **_I love you_** _.”_

David has to cling at the balcony’s railing with both hands to keep himself from being swept away at the staggering impact of that high note.

It mingles with the scream the Prince never heard when he died in the Knight’s arms.

_“‘Cause I wonder where you are, and I wonder what you do.”_

Images of the Knight looking up at the direction of the Prince’s chambers during his nightly patrols mingle with images of Cook pausing at the door of David’s hotel room as they all head off to sleep.

_“Are you somewhere feeling lonely?  Or is someone loving you?”_

Images of Cook frowning at the girls _and_ boys throwing themselves at David and proclaiming to be his biggest fans mingle with images of the Knight standing in the shadows at a corner of the ballroom as he silently watches the Prince dance with his Betrothed.

_“Tell me how to win your heart, ‘cause I haven’t got a clue.”_

Images of the last night the Prince had ever spent with his Knight before the war took his life flicker before David’s eyes as he hears his own words being echoed back at him: ‘ _Never doubt my knowledge of how much you care for me.’_

And it is only then that the Prince finally realises how blind he has been as the curtain falls from David’s eyes for the second time.

_“But let me start by saying…”_

The rest of the band fades away to leave Cook alone with his guitar once more, and the vibrations quiver in time with the tremor of David’s heartstrings.

_“Hello?”_

His Knight doesn’t just care for him.

_“… Is it me you’re looking for?”_

David Cook… **_loves_** him.


End file.
